


But I Am Losing Faith in What I See

by mytimehaspassed



Series: Cold as it Gets [2]
Category: Swiss Family Robinson (1960)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23119813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: When Ernst leaves the jungle, he is dirty and uncouth, a boy who has forgotten the purpose of houses and cobblestone streets and the trite, polished niceties of dinner conversations.
Relationships: Ernst Robinson/Fritz Robinson, Roberta/Fritz Robinson
Series: Cold as it Gets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661866
Kudos: 1





	But I Am Losing Faith in What I See

When Ernst leaves the jungle, he is dirty and uncouth, a boy who has forgotten the purpose of houses and cobblestone streets and the trite, polished niceties of dinner conversations. He knows how to build and sculpt and craft leaves and wood and bark into practical, useful things. He knows the knowledge of books and he knows the strength of his hands and he knows the way the weather turns and what storms the southern wind can bring. He knows the face of mother nature because this is what the jungle has taught him, what the shipwreck has given him.

When Ernst leaves the jungle for Fritz and Roberta and the savior of civilization, he knows words and the way they are written down on the page, but he doesn't know how to say them anymore. He doesn't know how to talk without speaking his mind, without sounding out of turn, without passing over the polite phrases he's supposed to use. He knows more about wild animals and the crash of waves against the shore. He knows more about the splitting sound wood makes when it impacts with rock, he knows more about the slow, cold climb of water into a broken ship.

Fritz has not forgotten, but he has Roberta to steer him right, even if he would rather be on the island, even if he would rather know more about the sun's shadow and the time of day than what a woman likes to hear when he presses his nose close to her powdered skin. Ernst knows what he likes to hear, when Fritz slips the maid, slips out of Roberta's grasp because she has petticoats and lace frills to distract her, and climbs into Ernst's bed, his hands sliding underneath the covers, sliding over Ernst's stomach.

Fritz will mouth Ernst’s name over and over again in the place where Ernst’s neck meets his shoulder and Ernst will pretend Fritz is his and no one else’s and they will lie there for hours, maybe, hours of their skin pressed close together. And Ernst will tell Fritz stories from the new books he’s read and Fritz will laugh at the funny parts and they won’t ever speak of the shipwreck or of the island they used to call home because this, above everything else, is what they miss the most.

And there's civilization and then there's this and Ernst knows the difference and knows exactly what he would choose, a hundred, a thousand times over, when all he can feel is the soft heat of Fritz' breath on Ernst's cheek, the soft touch of Fritz' fingers and the way Ernst's mouth opens, the soft gasp he exhales. Ernst wants Fritz and nothing else, and if he has to leave the jungle for it, if he has to endure dinner parties and cocktails with guests who have never seen the inside of a cave or dove deep into the heart of an ocean for glimmering shells, then Ernst will take it.

Ernst will take it and never look back.

***

Roberta knows clothes and dolls and the way cutlery lies on a tablecloth, but she teaches Ernst all she can, anyway. She teaches him and he’s grateful for the things she knows and she smiles and tells him that he‘s really coming along, that he‘s really learning this, that he’s really growing. And he ducks his head and his smile is shy, but he won’t tell her that this isn’t something he wants, that he’s really only faking, because everything she gives him only pushes him farther away from who he wants to be, pushes him farther away from that boy who lived in a jungle, that boy who became a man. And everything she gives him, everything she teaches him, won’t be enough to show him why this life is better. Why this life is where Fritz wants to be.

He takes classes at the University and he reads books in the library and he prays in the cathedral and Roberta introduces him to girls his age, but where before he dreamt about these things, he dreams now about warm waters and the smell of the jungle after a rain shower. He dreams now about the loose dance Francis would perform as he climbed the ropes to his bed, about Mother’s soft laughter like music as Father danced with her at night. He dreams and, mostly, it’s about Fritz and, always, he wakes up with his fingers warm against his hip and his mouth open and swallowing the cold air in mute gasps, open and whispering Fritz’ name like maybe he’s afraid to say it, like maybe he’s not supposed to say it this way, with this much hunger.

Fritz never stays with Ernst in his bed, but Ernst knows it’s only because he’s never asked.

***

Roberta lives with her grandfather in a house that’s much like a ship, with the walls painted the blue green of an ocean and the wood beneath their feet as sturdy as planks and masts, creaking in waves with their weight. Ernst sees Roberta’s grandfather once or twice after they leave the island, once or twice before he leaves again to captain a crew that must feel lost without him, but the house swells with his presence, anyway. There are corners that are filled with his musky scent, there are rooms that still possess his watchful eye, and so when Fritz steadies a hand on Ernst’s back in the hallway, when he slides his mouth in for a kiss in the basement, Ernst feels the disapproval there like a cloud, heavy and hanging over him.

Roberta’s grandfather like a ghost who’s never left his home, Ernst feels the disappointment choking him like a lungful of smoke. And he doesn’t want this, has never wanted this, but he needs Fritz and Fritz needs him and no one will ever be able to understand that. No one will ever know what it’s like besides Fritz, besides Ernst, besides the suffocating warmth of a jungle that‘s watched them grow up.

And Fritz will feel the pull of Ernst, but Ernst won’t ever ask him to leave the life Fritz has built in the civilized world. And Fritz won’t ever ask Ernst to go back.

***

Ernst studies cultures and studies worlds and studies the writings of men that have traveled farther than the jungles Ernst has seen, farther than the oceans Ernst has swam in. Ernst reads and writes and tells only Fritz about the things he knows and it’s in there somewhere that he realizes why Fritz likes this civilized life. Fritz, who will trace fingers over and over the freckles that dot Ernst’s shoulders, trace over and over the lines on his skin. Fritz, who will listen without really listening. Fritz, whose eyes never light up like Ernst’s, when Ernst tells of the early explorers and their reign over the world, the early explorers and their contributions. Fritz, who has never seemed interested in the world Ernst knows, who has always taken what’s been given to him and dealt with it, made it work.

Fritz knows how to survive and that’s why he liked the island, because it was bountiful and sustainable and because they made it their own. This life, the life Fritz wants, it’s more than that. It’s mapped out already, it’s planned. Fritz knows what to do and how to do it and who to be and Ernst knows that’s the most important thing Fritz could ever ask for.

Ernst knows that this life is why Fritz left.

When Ernst tells Fritz he’s figured him out, his face buried in his pillow, Fritz’ fingers tracing over and over his shoulder blades, over and over his spine, Fritz laughs and says, “You think I like this life because it’s predictable?”

Ernst rolls over, opening his eyes, squinting to make out Fritz’ face in the candlelight. “Don’t you?” he says, and suddenly he feels stupid, and suddenly he feels unsure.

Fritz smiles, but it’s not beautiful. “You don’t know why I came back, Ernst.” He slips out of the covers, his feet bare on the floor, his hands reaching for his discarded shirt. Hs muscles are still strong, but not as thick as they were in the jungle, when he did nothing but climb and run and build all day. His skin is pale, but only because the sun here never really reaches the ground, only because the clouds cover the sky all the time.

Ernst hears Roberta’s laughter somewhere in the house, where she’s drinking wine and trading gossip with the maids, where she stands water warm and watches them sew together the holes in her clothes. Fritz hears her laughter, too, and stands still for a moment, like he’s afraid he’ll be caught. Like he’s afraid she’ll know, they’ll all know, and Fritz will be exposed.

Ernst looks up at him and bites his lip. “Will I ever know why you came back, Fritz?” His voice is nothing above a whisper.

Fritz doesn’t answer, doesn’t move, but he’s still looking at Ernst in that sad way he always does, like maybe he knows that Ernst is smarter, like maybe he knows that Ernst is more intelligent because of all the books he reads, but that Ernst will never know as much as Fritz. That Ernst will never be as wise.

Fritz swallows and says, “No.” He won’t look Ernst in the eye, and Ernst won’t ask him to, no matter how much he wants it.

And then Fritz walks to the door and leaves, the old handle creaking at the touch, the door’s hinges whining at the use, and Ernst feels naked and shallow on the bed.

***

Ernst knows that Roberta knows but doesn’t want to know. Ernst knows that Roberta might be just a girl, soft and weak-boned and small in her flowery dresses, but that she’s not stupid, that she can feel Fritz’ waning warmth, that she knows what it means when Fritz leaves a hand on the small of Ernst’s back when they talk. That she knows what it means when Ernst smiles big and wide when Fritz laughs at his stories, what it means when Fritz will leave the dinner table and head to Ernst’s room instead of Roberta’s.

They are engaged to be married, but not even Roberta, who was born of a captain and taught to steer a ship when she was small, who is the strongest girl Ernst has ever met, can stand the betrayal. Fritz will break Roberta’s heart as long as Ernst is around and Roberta knows that. Roberta knows that Ernst is the only one who stands between her and a husband who will never love anyone else, her and a husband who will stay with her and only her.

But, still, she never asks Ernst to leave. Still, she never asks Ernst to give her back the man she met in a jungle far from civilization, far from this place. Still, she never asks Ernst to give her back the man she’ll always love.

So, Ernst stops waiting.

***

“I’m leaving,” he says, and Fritz freezes on the bed. Ernst hasn’t planned this, hasn’t written down the thousand things he’s wanted to say, but only because Fritz will never give him the chance. Only because Fritz will never want to hear it.

“The Captain is sending a ship to the island, anyway, and I thought it wouldn’t be too much trouble if I was along for the ride.” Fritz isn’t looking at Ernst, but he doesn’t have to. Ernst knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Roberta is sending out some clothes for Francis and the Captain is going to give me his old maps. I thought maybe you might like to give something to Mother and Father?”

Fritz’ voice is hoarse when he speaks, but it’s not warm. “How long?”

Ernst watches Fritz run a thumb along the back of his right hand, a nervous habit he hasn’t picked up since they were both children. Ernst watches Fritz bite his lip again and again. “How long are you going to be gone?” He asks, and the bed feels cold where they’re not touching.

“For as long as I can.”

And Fritz laughs, and it’s dark and it’s painful. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

And Ernst thinks it might be over, but he feels the swell of anger in him rise up. “You’re just going to give up? Just like that?”

“If you want me to,” Fritz says.

And Ernst has never wanted Fritz to give up on him, but he knows, like Fritz knows, that this is what he wants. That Roberta is what he wants. That this life is the life Fritz used to dream about when they lived in the tree house, that this life is what Fritz used to wish for when he closed his eyes at night. That, when Ernst was wishing Fritz would love him, Fritz was wishing for a house and a street and a fiancée to hold on his arm.

So Ernst says, “I do.”

***

When Ernst returns to the jungle, he is hardened and strong, a man who has lived through more than he should, a man who has never forgotten his home. A man who knows how to sail and build and cook and kill, a man who knows how to live on his own.

And when Ernst dreams at night, there’s only one name on his lips, a boy he’s left behind.


End file.
